


Their Wine is the Venom

by Saucery



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alliances, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aurors, BAMF Hermione Granger, Bigotry & Prejudice, Case Fic, Companionable Snark, Complicated Relationships, Compromise, Consent Issues, Crimes & Criminals, Dark, Dom/sub, Drama, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fantastic Racism, HP: EWE, Hate to Love, Law Enforcement, Light BDSM, Love/Hate, Lust, Ministry of Magic, Mission Fic, Not Epilogue Compliant, Plotty, Post-Canon, Poverty, Power Play, Racism, Racist Language, Sexual Slavery, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Snark, Strong Female Characters, Terrorism, Terrorists, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auror Hermione Granger recruits the infamous Lucius Malfoy to help her infiltrate a new Dark cult, going undercover as his slave.</p><p>Despite playing the master, Lucius grows more and more certain that it is she who has mastered him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Their Wine is the Venom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheTVJunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTVJunkie/gifts).



> The following aspects of canon have been changed:
> 
> 1) While the Malfoys were not imprisoned after the Battle of Hogwarts, they _did_ have all their assets and properties seized by the Ministry, including the contents of their multiple Gringotts vaults and the Malfoy Manor, itself.
2) Thus, when Draco married Astoria Greengrass, he and Narcissa moved into the Greengrass estate, although the Greengrass family isn’t wealthy, either. As a result, the Malfoys have to work for a living.
3) Narcissa divorced Lucius soon after Draco’s marriage, not just because she couldn’t forgive Lucius for putting their son in danger, but because she and Draco needed to distance themselves from the stigma of Lucius’ terrible crimes, painting themselves as the innocent family of an evil man. Lucius consented to the divorce, recognizing that it was necessary to ensure the survival of his family.
4) Currently, Lucius lives alone in Knockturn Alley, the only place a man with his past can find lodging.
5) Ron and Hermione broke up after graduation, and never married. Things between them are awkward in the extreme.

> 
> Oh, and the title is taken from the Bible, [Deuteronomy 32:33](http://www.kingjamesbibleonline.org/Deuteronomy-32-33/).

* * *

 

The plumbing was complaining again, as it tended to do whenever Lucius attempted bathing. He was convinced it was a poltergeist, because only a being of Peeves’ persuasion could time its mischief so _perfectly_ to Lucius’ personal habits.

“I’ll have you know that I’m capable of performing exorcisms,” Lucius called out, and after a suspicious pause, the rusty shower came on with a blast that almost propelled Lucius out of the tiny cubicle.

Wonderful.

When Lucius emerged, dripping and shivering and miserable, the pipes executed a cheery, creaky ditty that he studiously ignored. He reached for his wand, where it was balanced on the edge of the grimy sink, and cast a drying charm on himself, followed by a shaving charm on his face. He was briefly caught by the sight of his reflection in the small, square mirror above the sink—while he’d lost the haggard and haunted expression that had marked his stint in Azkaban, there was still an unhealthy pallor to him, as though he were part-ghost, his translucent grey eyes glinting like chips of ice.

Lucius wrapped himself in his worn, once-silken gown, and left the bathroom to change. He had his shirt, trousers and waistcoat laid out for him on top of his ratty single mattress, and he donned them with alacrity, shrugging into his threadbare robes and tying his hair with a black band. His shift at Borgin and Burkes began in less than an hour, and Borgin was the least patient of employers.

For a moment, it struck Lucius how ridiculous all of this was. In his bygone days, a dozen House Elves would have worked themselves to the bone to assure that the water in Lucius’ giant, gleaming, golden bathtub was heated to within the tenth of a degree, and that a sumptuous breakfast was ready for him on a levitating silver tray by the tub, and that three different sets of velveteen, designer dress robes hovered in mid-air outside his armoire, waiting for him to choose his favorite…

No.

Reminiscence was both foolish and unproductive. Lucius lived in the present, dwelling neither on his past nor on his no doubt penniless future, ending in an ignominious death in this filthy hovel, or perhaps even on a roadside somewhere, should he fall sick with age and prove unable to pay the rent.

What would fretting about the inevitable accomplish? He wasn’t old and infirm _yet_ , much as the prospect terrified him, and he clung to what remained of his dignity with the desperation of the doomed. [Do not go gentle](http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/do-not-go-gentle-good-night), et cetera, et cetera. He would certainly rage against the dying of the light; rage came to him naturally.

A knock at his door startled him.

Nobody knocked on his door.

Lucius drew his wand, and inched forward on silent feet.

It could be anyone. Righteous do-gooders out to kill a servant of Voldemort. Vengeful Death Eaters out to kill a turncoat. Pure-blood fundamentalists out to kill a blood-traitor. The list went on.

Lucius cast a one-way transparency charm, rendering the flimsy wood of the door temporarily invisible.

Beyond the door stood… Hermione Granger.

 _Granger_. Deputy Head of the Auror Department. Harry Potter’s friend. A third of the Golden Trio. Stubborn, brilliant little Mudblood.

Granger peered right back at him. “I can see you, too,” she said, “as I cast a transparency charm of my own. Don’t you have wards on your door?”

“Having wards in a neighborhood as disreputable as Knockturn Alley is more of an invitation than a deterrent. I have nothing worth stealing. Why draw attention to myself?”

“What about your life? Isn’t that worth something?” Granger said, as Lucius opened the door and beckoned her inward, acutely conscious that his studio apartment—such as it was—resembled nothing more than an airless, musty coffin with benefits. Very few benefits.

“What difference would wards make?” Lucius said, closing the now-opaque door behind her and pocketing his wand. “If death seeks me out, alone and without allies as I am, wards will not hold it off. A duel might delay it, if that.”

“You’ve become philosophical since I last saw you,” Granger observed.

“And you’ve become…” Lucius trailed off. “Commanding,” he said, at last, because there was a surety to Granger, a confident set to her shoulders, straight-backed and authoritative as she was, clearly accustomed to having her orders obeyed. Narcissa had had a bearing like that, once. Obviously, it wasn’t just Granger’s body that had matured; her very essence had altered, or rather, strengthened. While her hair was as untamable as ever, she was clad in brown Auror robes that were more presentable than what Lucius himself was wearing. It galled, that a Ministry employee made more than he did. That a Muggleborn half his age made more than he did.

“Thank you,” Granger said, unironically, her sharp eyes flicking around the apartment, taking in the boarded window, the messy bed, the pair of rickety chairs and the equally rickety desk. She had no visible reaction to what she saw—no disdain or pity or moral satisfaction—and Lucius refused to admit he was grateful for that.

“As you can see, I have no further property to confiscate. Or is the Ministry sending its Aurors on social calls?”

“This is no social call.”

“Then make it quick. I have work in thirty-five minutes.”

“No,” said Granger, calmly. “You don’t.”

Lucius froze. His heart pounded painfully, horribly. “Are you Aurors so determined to kill me with poverty that you plan to rob me of the only employment I have been able to find?” he hissed. “What did you say to Borgin? What did you threaten him with?”

“Nothing, actually,” Granger said, with mild astonishment. “Sit down, Mr. Malfoy. You look like you’re going to faint.”

Lucius realized his hands were shaking, and curled them into fists. “No. You do not come into _my home_ , pathetic as it is, and threaten me with—with—”

“I’m not here to threaten you. I’m here to make a proposition. A proposition that will restore you to your former… glory.”

Lucius drew himself up. “Do not try to hoodwink me, girl. If this proposition of yours is beneficial to me, why can it not wait until after I’m done with my work? Work I cannot afford to lose?”

“Because, from now on, you work for me.” Granger met and held his gaze. “Borgin isn’t your boss, anymore. I am.”

“You are,” Lucius said, incredulously. “What next? Instead of a glorified salesman of Dark objects, am I to be a glorified consultant _on_ Dark objects? What else could Magical Law Enforcement use me for?”

“Undercover missions,” Granger said, with apparent sincerity. She must be mad.

“Undercover missions,” Lucius echoed, flatly.

“Yes. I cannot tell you the details until you swear an Unbreakable Vow not to reveal them, but the gist of the case is that there is a new band of Dark witches and wizards launching assaults on Muggle London.”

Lucius frowned, recalling the news he’d seen splashed across the front page of the _Prophet_ , yesterday. And a week before that. “The Ministry said they were isolated incidents, not linked to a particular group.”

“When does the Ministry ever tell the truth?” Granger quipped, despite herself being an employee of that august institution. “We couldn’t afford sending the public into a panic. Additionally, the Muggle government has begun to cooperate with us on this issue, and they’re holding us to the utmost secrecy, to prevent leaking our intelligence to potential spies within our ranks.”

“What makes you think _I’m_ not a spy?”

Granger sat down on the nearest chair, raising an eyebrow pointedly at the way it groaned. “You’d be better furnished, for one thing. Sit,” she repeated. “This is going to be a long conversation.”

“No, it isn’t.” Lucius continued standing. “I want no part of whatever it is you’re suggesting, though simple logic dictates that you wish to have me infiltrate this shadowy organization and risk my neck for a mere pittance.”

“We do need you to infiltrate them, but we will reward you with far more than a pittance. We will reinstate all your money and property to you, and we’ll lift the ban on Malfoys ever holding positions in the Ministry.”

Lucius swayed, shocked. Everything he’d been suffering, over. Everything he’d tolerated, everything he’d _hated_ — “You can’t be serious,” he whispered.

“Like I said,” Granger said. “A long conversation.”

Lucius sat.

“People have died, and if we don’t act soon, more will die.”

“Muggles die by the thousands in wars of their own making,” Lucius said. “Why should we wizards be troubled by the deaths of a dozen more?”

Granger’s features hardened. “Those Muggles are the parents, relatives, friends and lovers of many wizards. You cannot divide the human population so arbitrarily.”

“A legitimate reason to condemn the admixture of our communities. We wouldn’t have this problem at all if the human population _could_ be neatly divided, would we?”

“You’re exactly as hateful as I remember,” Granger snapped, “and believe me, if you weren’t the only viable candidate, I’d leave you here to rot and die, forgotten by the rest of society.”

“And yet, that very hatefulness is why I’m viable, isn’t it?” Lucius said, shrewdly, the last vestiges of his shock vanishing under the steady, habitual ticking of his mind from benefit to benefit, profit to profit. That, and provoking an emotional reaction from the otherwise level-headed Granger had put him on surer footing. “The group will be more likely to accept me as a member, given my history, and my… distaste for Muggles.”

Granger took a deep breath, composing herself. “Yes.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m willing to get involved,” Lucius said, because even though he knew he’d eventually agree, he intended to drive a hard bargain. He had to make Granger even more aware of how important Lucius was to her, and how crucial it was that she provide him with every possible protection, given the danger of this mission. After all, the longer he survived, the more information he could acquire for the Ministry. “I could get killed. I may be poor, Miss Granger, but I am, at least, alive.”

“Alive, but in what state?” Granger gestured at the room around them. “I’m offering you the chance to salvage your family’s name—to salvage the very pure-blood heritage you’re so proud of. Deny me, and the Malfoy name will fade into obscurity, condemned to eternal mediocrity, without wealth or power.”

“Perhaps I have grown weary of wealth and power,” Lucius lied, “given the disasters they have visited upon me.”

“Only because they were misused. Incorrectly invested, as it were.” Granger considered him narrowly. “Reject my offer, and your grandson, Scorpius, will never inherit his ancestral home, nor occupy political office, nor have enough money to dress himself in any clothing other than patched-up robes bought secondhand from thrift shops.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Lucius said, but would Draco confide in him if the situation at the impoverished Greengrass estate was that dire? Draco scarcely talked to him, as it was.

“I’m not exaggerating. You may as well consign your family to the same fate as the Weasleys, whom you taunted for their poverty. Indeed, the Malfoys will be lowlier, given that several younger Weasleys now hold senior positions at the Ministry, while your own son does not. And cannot.”

“My, my. What a consummate manipulation of my supposedly wounded pride. I didn’t expect you to be such a Slytherin.”

“All the houses have their virtues,” Granger said, coolly. “With time, I’ve thrown away my childish prejudices and adopted the best traits of each house.”

“How stunningly utilitarian of you.”

“Utilitarianism served me well, in the war and afterwards. Better than your own childish prejudices served you.”

“There’s a fine line between discernment and prejudice.”

“There really isn’t.” Granger regarded him distastefully. “In fact, they’re diametrically opposed. Wisdom and bigotry belong on opposite ends of the intellectual spectrum.”

“I’ve never had my intelligence insulted in so roundabout and eloquent a manner,” Lucius said, amused despite himself. “Perhaps you truly would have thrived in Slytherin.”

Granger sighed. “May we return to the topic, please?”

“If you insist.” He folded his hands in his lap. “Am I to be the sole operative on this wild-goose chase, or will I be accompanied by a chaperone?”

“I’ll be there with you,” Granger admitted. “As your Muggleborn pet, of sorts.”

The notion of Granger being a pet was ludicrous, not least because Lucius couldn’t picture her succumbing to anyone without fighting them to the death. “A pet with all attendant connotations?”

Granger didn’t so much as blush. “Including the sexual connotations, yes.”

“Your professionalism is par excellence. But…” As Granger disapproved so strongly of Lucius’s prejudices, he presented her with another. “I protest going undercover with a Gryffindor, on principle. They’re _terrible_ liars.”

“All Aurors are trained in stealth and concealment, including identity concealment,” Granger said, dryly. “That does require a smidgen of duplicity.”

“A smidgen won’t save our necks.”

Granger’s eyes flashed. “It saved the world.”

Lucius bared his teeth. “Still unable to stop bragging about your Pyrrhic victory?”

“Still unable to stop bragging about your useless pure blood?”

It was a slight that made Lucius’s “useless” blood boil, but it also made his lips quirk in bitter mirth, because this was the most he’d spoken, the most he’d _felt_ since his exile. “Why, Miss Granger, I haven’t enjoyed such witty repartee for months. Do stay for lunch.”

“Prepared by an oppressed, tormented House Elf? No, thanks.”

“What about an oppressed, tormented Malfoy?” Lucius waved at the cracked, water-stained walls and sagging ceiling. “Does it seem like I can afford a House Elf, to you?”

“You cook.” Granger gaped at him. “ _You_ cook.”

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“Is poisoning your guests one of them?” Granger snorted. “Wait, what am I saying? Of course it is.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Lucius smiled unpleasantly. “Accusing an old snake of losing his fangs would be terribly impolite, but it appears your manners have improved.”

“Enough word games, Malfoy. Yes or no?”

“To the lunch?” Lucius asked, innocently.

“To. The. Mission,” Granger gritted out, running out of patience, her hand twitching toward her wand. Oh, how she must yearn to hex him. It was thrilling, somehow, to be on the receiving end of such spite, after eons of dull, plodding routine.

“Yes,” Lucius said, as he had known he would, the instant Granger had stated her terms. Not just because Lucius wanted to reclaim his riches, but because he would do anything for his family. For his ancestors who had never bowed their heads, and for his descendants, who shouldn’t have to bow theirs, either. To Dark Lords or upstart Aurors.

Lucius had gone about it unwisely, before, placing his bets on the wrong side. Now, however, he had the opportunity to recover something from the ashes. He had no illusions about ever redeeming himself as a father in Draco’s eyes, but thankfully, as a Slytherin, Lucius found the concept of redemption abstract at best and irrelevant at worst. He would do what had to be done, for his son and his grandson. That was that.

Granger was studying him intently, as if he were a book written in a foreign language. “Will you swear on it, then? Will you make an Unbreakable Vow?”

As much as Lucius despised fetters of any kind, he had, under Voldemort’s service, learned to bear them. “I will.”

“Good.” The tension bled out of Granger, and she stood, a previously unseen tiredness manifesting itself in her posture. She looked simultaneously younger and older. “I’ll come by tomorrow, with an Auror who’ll be the Bonder for our Vow. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Malfoy.”

The conversation felt abrupt, unfinished, unresolved—but there was nothing further to discuss, not until Lucius made the Vow and was sworn to secrecy. All Lucius had to do today was resign from Borgin and Burkes—although, given his tardiness, he was probably already fired—and put his meager affairs in order.

Granger held out her hand, and Lucius shook it. “Farewell, Miss Granger.”

She departed, but the warmth of her hand lingered, a phantom touch on his skin.

 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Want updates and sneak previews? Follow me on [Tumblr](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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